


All the Time in the World

by rileywrites



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Caretaker Derek Hale, Hurt/Comfort, Injured Chris Argent, M/M, Mentions of canon typical violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-21
Updated: 2019-09-21
Packaged: 2020-10-25 11:34:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,012
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20723540
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rileywrites/pseuds/rileywrites
Summary: Derek hears him before the knock, the telltale rattle of a lung injury alongside the soft thud of boots on the concrete.He smells blood and pain and gunpowder and sweat and tears and Chris.When he opens the door, a bedraggled Chris Argent is swaying on his feet in the doorway.





	All the Time in the World

Derek hears him before the knock, the telltale rattle of a lung injury alongside the soft thud of boots on the concrete.

He smells blood and pain and gunpowder and sweat and tears and _Chris_.

When he opens the door, a bedraggled Chris Argent is swaying on his feet in the doorway.

"You look like shit."

"I feel like it," Argent rasps. His lip is split, both of his eyes are bruised, and there are hasty stitches holding his left cheek together. "Can I--"

He drops before he can finish the question, falling into Derek's arms as consciousness escapes him.

Touching his bare skin feels like being punched in the gut, the pain flowing into Derek's body without effort.

"What the fuck did they do to you?" Derek says, not expecting an answer. He gets Chris inside and manhandles him to the couch.

Chris doesn't stir as Derek gets muddied boots and bloodied clothes off of him. His torso is covered in mottled bruises, a patchwork of yellow and green and blue and dark, fresh purple.

That explains the lung injury. At least two ribs are broken.

There is evidence of electric shock far too close to his heart.

Chris stirs when Derek saps some of his pain, grimacing as he surfaces and relaxing when he realizes the pain is easing.

"D'rk?"

"I'm here."

Chris lifts a hand just enough to pat the closest bit of Derek, a tiny ghost of a smile on his lips as his eyes droop closed.

Derek gets Chris into clean sweatpants, cleans his wounds, and moves him to his bed. He can't let the man sleep on the couch, and the stairs are out of the question.

Once Chris is sound asleep, Derek does the rounds of the loft, double-checking the locks, sealing the sigils.

Derek fishes his phone out of the pile of stuff on the coffee table.

**To Stiles: Do we know why Chris Argent was beaten to a pulp?**

He's almost asleep on the couch when the reply comes through.

**From Stiles: From what I can tell, purists from a Canadian fanatic group. I've already got Isaac out tracking them.**

**From Stiles: I take it he came to you?**

**To Stiles: He did. I don't know why.**

Stiles' response is conspicuous in its absence.

Derek sinks into a fitful sleep, every molecule in his body attuned to the presence of the broken man in his den.

...

He wakes to Chris crying out in his sleep. Derek is by Chris' side before he's even fully awake, laying a gentle hand on his shoulder to take some of the pain.

Once Chris settles, Derek turns back to the couch. Chris weakly grabs his arm, still mostly asleep.

Derek attempts to back away, but Chris' pitiful whine keeps him from moving. Gently, oh so fucking gently, Derek eases onto the bed behind him.

As soon as Derek is solidly behind him, Chris relaxes into the embrace.

He smells like pain and blood and gunpowder and strangers. Underneath, however, he still smells like he should.

(He smells like home.)

Too tired and worried to stop himself, Derek tucks his face against Chris' neck where the good scent overpowers the bad ones.

It's like sleeping with a space heater, and Derek aches with the pain he's bearing for Chris, but he doesn't care.

Chris doesn't want him to move, so he's not moving.

...

They both manage to sleep until late into the afternoon, blackout curtains keeping the sun from ruining their sleep.

Derek wakes to Chris shifting and grumbling.

"Chris?"

"Ow..."

Derek takes more of Chris' pain than the surface level stuff he managed while asleep, gritting his teeth as he waits for Chris to relax.

"Th'nk you," he rasps, sleep rough and still exhausted. "Didn't have to."

"Yeah, I really did." Then, quietly, "Why me?"

Chris shrugs and grunts at the pain the motion caused.

"Knew I would be safe." Then, "Can you help me to the bathroom?"

Derek carries Chris to the bathroom despite his grumbling protestations, leaning against the wall outside the door to make sure he's okay.

Chris opens the door with a grimace.

"Can you carry me back to bed?" He asks with a little pout. "Everything hurts."

"I'm still amazed you made it all the way here." Derek gently scoops him up, depositing him with his back against the pillows. "Pure adrenaline?"

"Pure adrenaline. Wait, where are you going?"

"I'm going to find you some Percocet from the first aid kit, and then I'm going to make us breakfast. Lunch. Whatever."

Chris grabs his hand and squeezes. "Thank you for taking care of me."

"You're pack," Derek says simply. Then, softer, "you're Chris."

He can tell that if Chris was feeling better he would be surging forward for a hug, or... or maybe more. Instead, he just squeezes his hand again.

"Percocet, please, so I can get some of my movement back."

...

They don't talk over lunch, Chris too busy trying to eat for what might be the first time in days, Derek isn't sure, and Derek lost in his thoughts.

Once Derek cleans up the remains of their breakfast tacos, he returns to Chris' side.

"C'mere." Chris extends a hand. "Come to bed."

It's a gut-punch of an order. Derek obeys, gently sliding into bed beside Chris.

"I need you to tell me yes or no," Chris says, bringing a shaky hand to Derek's cheek. "I need to know I'm respecting your boundaries. I'm not..."

"You're not your sister," Derek says bluntly. "You're Chris. Ask."

"Could you please kiss me?"

Derek does, carefully, intensely aware of Chris' injuries.

Chris, rested and medicated, doesn't seem to give as much of a fuck about them. He tangles a hand in Derek's hair, holding him close.

"You need to rest." Derek breaks the kiss, afraid they'll pop Chris' stitches if they get any more amorous. "We have all the time in the world."

Well, first he has to find and kill the bastards who did this to Chris, but after that.

"Promise?"

"I swear."


End file.
